Dear Santa, Define 'Good'
by Charisma Brendon
Summary: Crossover with Supernatural. First impressions aren't always right. Buffy/Dean pairing, set pre-series for both SPN and BTVS.


**Title:**_Dear Santa, Define 'Good.'_  
**Author: **Charisma Brendon  
**Summary:** First impressions aren't always right. AU, obviously.  
**Pairing:** Setting up the pairing of Buffy/Dean (Supernatural)  
**Notes: **This was written as a present for Blueicyrose on LJ for the BTVSsanta exchange. Set before Buffy moves to Sunnydale, so he meets her around the time she's first called. Thanks to Liz (Willow2002) for the beta, as usual. Any screw-ups are mine.  
**Word Count:** 1947

_**Dear Santa, Define 'Good.'**_

  


** December, 1996**

**

Dean

**

Dean was not a happy camper. Papa Winchester had insisted he go ahead to check out the situation while he checked out a banshee sighting in Oregon. Once again, he and Sammy were left all alone for the holidays. In Los Angeles. At seventeen and thirteen respectively, they had spent so much time alone the novelty was long gone. Some kids would kill for that kind of freedom. 

Eh, the holidays were stupid anyway, but that wasn't the point. Although he was currently slowly dying in a mall, shopping was out of the question because he was a dude. No dude enjoyed shopping for doilies, no matter how bored he was. So far, the most demonic activity he encountered came in the form of vampires, which meant real fighting was out of the question. He couldn't watch television without the importance of family being drilled into his head. It didn't fill him with fuzzy feelings.

God, he was bored, and the synthesized muzak coming out of the speakers did not help at all.

The smell of pastries and specialty coffee stopped him in his tracks. A Starbucks was right in front of him, and he could have sworn he heard angels singing as they showered the building with sparkling light. The cookies and coffee he had in his greedy little hands went a long way in improving his mood. Maybe Sam would appreciate some chocolate chip cookies, if they lasted the ride back to the hotel.

"Are you crazy? Look, I don't know who you think I am, but you've got the wrong girl."

His steps barely faltered as he abruptly abandoned the path to the door. He should sit. Take the time to enjoy the scenery.

Over the lid of his coffee cup, he tracked down the owner of the voice. Blonde, pretty, innocent, and short. Just the way he liked them. The bright pink of her short dress was a bit much for his taste, and he got the distinct impression she was too young. Maybe when she was older and going through a rebellious stage. Not that he'd be around, but it was nice to pretend.

The older man sitting across from her was more subdued. If Dean's ears hadn't been straining, he wouldn't have heard the word "vampire."

Vampire? Why would he be talking to this valley girl about vampires?

"Yes, the guy was strange and I noticed. That doesn't mean anything unusual was going on. He was just severely deformed. Or light! It was a trick of light. Vampires don't exist."

Wow, this girl could use a lesson in subtlety.

Whatever. He needed to get back before Sammy started worrying. His brother could be such a girl sometimes, and they only had an hour until sundown.

**

Buffy

**

She should have been at home with her parents, drinking hot chocolate and singing off-key Christmas carols. The cemetery was not on her list of places to go, yet there she was with a man old enough to be her grandfather and a styrofoam cup of Starbucks coffee, waiting for some jackass to rise from the dead. Life had a tendency to suck for her. 

"You should be prepared," his smoke-deepened voice broke the silence.

"Prepared to rationalize more?"

He raised a graying eyebrow. "You admit it?"

She sighed deeply. "It's been drilled into my head. Responsibility to save the world, destroy vampires, try not to die." She laughed. "Try not to die. I'm sixteen. That really shouldn't be something I have to worry about."

For the first time since she met him, his face softened. "I'm here to keep you alive."

She smiled. "That makes me feel a little better."

As if he had committed an offense by letting his gruff exterior loosen, his face returned to its normal scowl. "That doesn't mean you should let your guard down, of course."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, of course."

They both sat on tombstones across from the grave of Stan Echolls and waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

An hour later, Buffy threw her long-emptied cup on the ground beside her makeshift seat. "Are you sure he rises tonight?"

"It's tonight. Believe it or not, I've been doing this a long time."

"I believe it," she mumbled under her breath.

He pretended not to hear her. Perfect.

A muffled scream came from the ground below, and Merrick spared a moment to glare smugly in her direction. And she was the teenager?

"Be ready," he advised. "He's going to be hungry when he comes up."

The sounds alone were enough to make her nervous. When the ground started to break apart and a hand extended, her own tightened around her stake. _Stay brave, you have help._ She glanced at Merrick, and drew assurance from the weapon in his hand.

Once the first clawed hand made room, the second joined the quest for freedom for the slowly ascending head and torso. This was the second time she had watched a vampire come back to the surface, and it was still as frightening. As surreal. 

She drew in a breath to prepare herself...

And lost it when two more figures came into view. "Merrick?" she asked uncertainly, her eyes still on the approaching boys. The growl brought her attention back to the hungry vampire, who was now flying at her. Oh crap.

She landed with a grunt, and immediately a hand was around his throat keeping him from hers. Realizing it was the hand that previously held her defense, she panicked. She looked around for her weapon and was surprised to find Merrick talking to the strangers. I What/i

"A little help, backup of mine?" she managed to squeak out and draw attention back to her predicament. Her predicament that was steadily forcing her hand down and his teeth closer to her jugular, at that.

Her eyes tightened against her will. She was a goner. Bye bye, parents. Goodbye, friends. Farewell, ice cream. I Whoosh /i , and she was covered in dust. Wait, dust? Then she noticed the lack of weight holding her down. She opened her eyes to find the vampire gone and one of the very attractive strangers standing over her and offering his hand. Well, at least she knew he wasn't evil. An evil guy wouldn't stop a vampire from killing a slayer. Would he? Either way, he had really pretty eyes and she was sick of being on the ground, so she allowed him to help her up.

"Thanks."

He smirked (and oh, God, looking like a jerk shouldn't be so hot). "Momma raised a gentlemen," he drawled. Southern. She did have a soft-spot for accents. He was going to finish her off! That must have been the evil plan he concocted with the vampire.

"For the save, too." How was her hair? She must have been covered in grass stains and dirt.

He shrugged. "It's what I do."

Buffy frowned and looked to his companion. "What are you doing out here, though?"

He reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out an FBI badge to flash in her face."We're investigating a series of grave desecrations. We think it may be a cult."

Confused, she asked, "Why would the FBI be investigating cemeteries?"

He gave her a stern look. "We have great respect for the dead, ma'am."

Merrick cleared his throat. "If you're finished spinning yarns, would you like to explain who you really are? You're obviously not a federal agent."

He blinked. "Yes I am."

"What kind of agent would carry a stake around and know they were dealing with a vampire? And you're, what? Sixteen?"

"I just look young, sir."

The obviously younger (and slightly taller) boy came forward. "Dean, he's not an idiot. We're demon hunters," he announced proudly.

"Sammy!" Dean stared at him in disbelief. "Anything else you'd like to share? Blood type, maybe? At the rate Blondie's going, it won't be long before she needs a transfusion."

She glared and drew herself to her full, intimidating height of five feet, three inches. "Hey! We can't all be experts!"

"A little bit of a clue would work just as well."

"You're about to find out how much of a clue I have," she spat out and walked towards him with clenched fists.

Merrick reached out an arm and held her back. "Now's really not the time, Buffy."

"And what are you doing out here? It's only fair to know, right?"

Merrick gave Dean a look that said more than words could have. He didn't like him at all. Instead, he turned to Sam when he spoke. "Training. Buffy's the slayer."

"Slayer?" Sam frowned. "I've read about them, but I always thought they were myths." He eyed Buffy speculatively. "Aren't you a little short?"

Her eyes narrowed. "How old are you?"

"Thirteen." Thirteen and six feet tall? He was going to be a giant.

She couldn't resist. "Have you even hit puberty yet?"

"Buffy!"

"I'm sorry!"

"It was a...pleasure meeting the two of you. I wish we could chat more, but we have more training to do and I don't have any aspirin." Merrick lightly gripped Buffy's arm and guided her to the cemetery gate.

They walked to Merrick's car in silence. The car ride wasn't much better, and it wasn't until he turned onto her street that she spoke. "There are others?"

He sighed. "You're not as alone as you think you are. You're the I only /i slayer, yes. But, you're not the only one hunting. There are more watchers. More people like those two."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better? More – what was his name? Dean? More people like him doing what I do? We don't have a chance in Hell, do we?"

A true smile lit his face. "Try not to be so disheartened. It's not all bad."

"And there's more than just vampires? I can barely get those, how am I supposed to fight a I demon /i ?"

He pulled to a stop in front of her house. "I didn't want to force the knowledge that everything evil you've heard about is real. I wanted you to have time to adjust and deal with it. Not all slayers have been about to handle it."

"I do appreciate it. Even if I'd rather whine than show it. I could be learning this all alone."

**

Dean

**

The entire trip back to the motel, Sammy teased him about the cemetery incident. "We have great respect for the dead, ma'am," Sammy repeated in a comically deep voice for the seventeenth time, before laughing hysterically all over again.

Dean was less than amused. "Will you stop, already?"

"That was so lame. Is that the best you could really do?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact it was. What would you have said, Sammy?"

"I don't know. Grave etchings, maybe? Certainly more plausible."

Dean grunted. "Yeah, that might have worked. That old guy would have noticed the lack of paper."

Sammy sighed. "Another one of those things attacked us and I dropped them. Duh."

"When did you get so sneaky?" Dean asked, impressed.

"I learned from watching the best." Sam waited for Dean to feel the glow of pride before finishing with, "Dad."

Dean ruffled Sammy's hair before turning up the radio. "Yeah. Dad."

Though he doubted their father would show up before the beginning of the new year, he asked like he always did. "Think he'll be here soon?"

"Yeah, Sammy. I think this time he'll show," Dean lied to him, like he had every other Christmas.

Some things never changed.


End file.
